


Wonderfully Random Oneshots

by britween1232



Category: Doctor Who (2005), Sherlock (TV), The Avengers (Marvel Movies), Thor (Movies)
Genre: F/F, F/M
Language: English
Status: In-Progress
Published: 2017-06-22
Updated: 2017-09-10
Packaged: 2018-11-17 11:44:20
Rating: Not Rated
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings, Graphic Depictions Of Violence, Major Character Death
Chapters: 5
Words: 12,108
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/11274732
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/britween1232/pseuds/britween1232
Summary: A few of the oneshots from my Wattpad book under the same title! Taking requests for oneshots!





	1. "A GIrl?!"

**Author's Note:**

> This is if the Twelfth Doctor had been a woman played by Hayley Atwell and not the brilliant Peter Capaldi. Takes place at the very end of Time of the Doctor.

"It all just disappears, doesn't it? Everything you are--gone in a moment, like breath on a mirror."

Clara took a half step closer to the Doctor,  _her_  Doctor, staring at him bewildered as he rambled, unraveling, literally, before her. He was scaring her.

"Any moment now," he said with a sad but accepting smile, "he's-a-coming."

"Who's coming?" she asked, her voice breaking as her emotions threatened to overwhelm her.

"The Doctor." He smirked knowingly.

She was confused, but nodded, misunderstanding. " _You_ \--- you  _are_ the Doctor."

"Yep," he replied, almost immediately, and Clara took another step as she started to reach for him, "and I always will be."

The Doctor held up his glowing, gold hand to show to his companion, also examining it himself. He'd done this many times before, and he was sure now that this wouldn't be the last. He was wistful and mournful every time for every life, every  _Doctor_ he'd ever been--grateful for the adventures but growing more and more weary of leaving himself behind as a new version pushed forward, often a completely  _different_  person. He'd lost people along the way because of snags that his new personality would bring, but he hoped Clara could be an exception.

He sighed heavily, his hearts thudding anxiously.

"But times change, and so must I. "

Tears gathered in the corner of the Clara's eyes, and she tilted her head sightly to the side.  _He couldn't_ , she thought.  _He_ can't _change. I need him; I need this man, this Doctor. My Doctor._

"I will not forget," he promised, speaking more to himself now than to Clara as he started clasping his hands together, "one line of this. Not one day. I swear. I will always remember when the Doctor was  _me_." He said with a bit of a tearful wink at his companion.

Clara edged even closer to him, tears now staining her smooth cheeks, hands toying with each other near the hem of her jumper as she peered up at him anxiously.

Exhaling, the Doctor pulled loose his brown bow tie, holding it in the air a moment as he gazed up at it, his memories reflected back. Little Amelia Pond, Rory, River--Demon's Run and the Pandorica and the biggest bang there ever was. Vincent Van Gogh and dinosaurs on spaceships, and Silence falling. Angels in Manhattan, Snowmen in Victorian London. Ghosts in a haunted mansion and Cold War submarines. Trenzalore. Vastra, Jenny and Strax and Sweetville. And Clara. Always  _Clara_.

The very old young man gave a slight nod in a sort of farewell before letting his prized accessory slip from his fingers and fall to the floor. He couldn't help but give a heartbroken smile to the brown-haired girl with whom he'd shared so many of his more recent adventures with, running away through time in the magical blue box that had saved both of their lives. He clenched is eyes shut with the painful ache that started to spread through his body, warning him of the newest Doctor's imminent arrival.

Clara let out something of a whimper and stumbled forward, tripping on her own heeled shoe. "No, no!"

She held out her hand for him, lips pursed together to stop her crying any more. He needed her to be strong, she knew. But she was losing him and she... she couldn't help or fight it off like it was a monster, the monsters she was so used to running from. She didn't know what to do.

His fingers, those glowing digits, brushed gently against hers in his last attempt to comfort her as  _himself_ , this version of the Doctor, a sweet smile on his face. "Hey, hey."

"Please don't change," she pleaded, shaking her head in earnest.

One final smile from the Doctor was all his companion earned before jerking backwards against the console as he gripped it for dear life.

It was an indescribable torment, all of his cells leaving his body while new ones simultaneously generated in their place, effectively altering his genetic makeup. He felt as though he were being picked apart, torn open and then haphazardly stapled back together. He could feel his body shrink until he felt significantly less tall and broad, his waist closing in on itself and his torso elongating. He held on until he felt his hands become thinner and softer against the console, letting go with a huff."

The Doctor, once he was certain the process had finished, straightened himself and rolled his shoulders with a weird sounding groan. He glanced over to his companion, finding Clara's jaw practically grazing the floor in shock.

He looked down, assessing his new body by patting his knees and giving a nod. "Kneecaps, legs, thighs, feet, toes--good. Can't tell when your clothes seem to have swallowed them. Clara, have I gotten shorter?"

Noticing his hands, the Doctor frowned, wiggling them curiously. "I appear to have been given a manicure--odd how very shiny my nails are. Seems a bit much."

Clara didn't respond, her eyes wide and round as she continued to stare.

The Doctor reached down to pat his torso, startled by the lumps and humps and bumps that occupied his new body where there used to be smooth, flat planes. He was a lot softer than before, curvy and fuller, which worried him. Had he gotten  _fat_?!

Clara still stood in one spot, arms held limply at her side as she watched silently.

"What is it, what's wrong?" he asked, feeling his face. Softer features, cheekbones high but not too high, a sharp jaw...

"Oh god.." The Doctor suddenly reached up to his hair, finding it a bit more thick and luxuriously soft than before. It was quite longer than it had been when he had last regenerated, just past his shoulders. "I'm.. I'm finally a ginger, aren't I?"

"No." Clara stood still yet and shook her head slowly, swallowing the lump in her throat with difficulty. "You-you're a girl."

"A girl!?" he questioned, alarmed, raising an eyebrow as he felt about his face.  _Her_  face, now, apparently. "A girl..." She says with wonder in her voice. "Never done that before."

Doctor seemed to be most fascinated by her new haircut. "It's got a bit of a texture to it, wavy. Bit long, but I can do long, can't I, Clara?" She, the Doctor, pulled a strand to where she could see it. "Aha! Nope, still not ginger. Dark hair,  _still_. Will I  _never_ be ginger??"

Clara scoffed, flustered by the startling change in identity her best friend had just made but comforted by the fact he-- _she_ \--was still, in fact, the same obliviously self absorbed Doctor.

"Is that what you're worried about, Doctor? Whether or not you've got red hair?" the companion grumbled, massaging her temples as she forced her wandering eyes away from the Doctor's new body.

"Well, yes. A girl can dream, can't she?" The Doctor, popped a hand over her mouth, gasping. "By Rassilon, I've got a higher voice. Yes, a girl, woman, no--  _lady_  voice, very,  _very_  girly-lady voice. A tad bubbly sounding," she says regretfully. "A bit posh, too."

"And these clothes, they're a bit big. We'll see if there's something we can do about that."

The TARDIS gave a sudden violent shudder, making the Doctor, in her new form, screech, grabbing again at the control's. "That's new!" She cried, flipping a random switch. "I actually scream like a girl now!"

"You've always screamed like a girl!" Clara shouted angrily, falling against the console. The Doctor shot her a curious look, almost like she was amused.

Another jerking of the blue box sent them off spiraling around the room, and this time, Clara stumbled over to the controls.

"I think she's a bit shaken up, this is new for her, too, you know," the Doctor says, nodding up at the TARDIS before looking back down at Clara, realizing she was still taller than her companion. "You're still short."

Clara blew a piece of hair out of her face and raised an eyebrow. "No.  _You're_  still  _tall_. Not as tall, but still taller than me."

The Doctor laughed at the way Clara was blushing, a row full of very new, straight, feminine teeth showing themselves for the first time. "You're staring at me."

"You just turned into a girl, Doctor," she defends quickly as the TARDIS ends its rocky start. "Of course I'm staring."

"You look a bit pink." the Doctor hummed with an almost flirtatious amusement, tugging at her loose suit, popping buttons as she went. Clara rolled her eyes before averting them once more.

"Really need to get new clothes. Can you..." She glanced up at her drained companion and frowned briefly. "Nope, I'm not the frowning sort, I can tell." A delighted smile replaced the frown. "Yep, I'm the smiling sort this time. Again. Hmm, the Daleks will love that, won't they?"

"I dunno." Clara huffed, feeling a bit dizzy.

"Can you keep an eye on Sexy for me while I'm gone?" The Doctor blurts, already removing the oversized shoes on her feet as she stumbles down a corridor. "I'll only be a mo'!"

"You really want me to fly this thing?" the other woman asked after her, eyebrows raised in fear and worry. "I hardly know how it works!"

"Oh, I think I showed you a thing or two, yes?" The Doctor called back with confidence. "It's like riding a bike, isn't it? You never really forget how!"

 

* * *

 

  
After several anxious minutes of horrible waiting and arguing with the sentient spaceship about how essential it was for the  _both_  of them to get their act together, the Doctor emerged for the corridor with her newest outfit. A short black 'A' shaped dress that ended just pass her knees with a white collar, her hair pulled up and away from her head in a very messy bun. She wore what looked like ankle boots to match, black this time instead of brown. The Doctor approaches Clara with a nervous grin, stuffs her hands into the pockets of her dress.

"I like it." She tells her companion, raising an eyebrow. "Do you like it?"

Clara opens her mouth briefly to snap at her, but instead rolls her eyes and smiles with a nod. "You look very...  _pretty_."

An appreciative grin starts at the corner of the Doctor's mouth but she doesn't say anything, just walks over to the console and lovingly runs her fingers over it.

"It'll be different now," Clara speaks after a moment, unable to keep her whirling thoughts to herself. She glances up at the woman across the room to find a pair of brown eyes already trained onto her, amusement fading quickly and leaving her expression blank.

" _We_  will be different now." Clara amends, shuffling in place as she sighs. The Doctor shoves her hands into her pockets again and tilts her head.

"Why?" She asks, moving from her spot to walk towards Clara, who ends up backing away the closer she gets. "Because I'm not a _man_ anymore--because I'm not  _him?_ Or because I'm a woman?"

There isn't anger or betrayal in the Doctor's voice as she questions Clara's reasoning, but only the desire to understand and maybe help convince her otherwise. Because though her physicality may have been altered, she does still care for Clara and can't quite imagine her life without her.

But Clara's getting more and more worked up, her fists clenching at her sides when she realizes the Doctor has backed her into a corner to keep her from further retreating.

"You know why, Doctor," Clara almost whimpers, upset that the other woman is trying to force it out of her. She's much more direct than the last Doctor. "Don't make me--"

"No, I don't know why," the Doctor interrupts with a shrug and a small frown as she reaches for Clara's hand which makes the other girl flinch. The Doctor shallows but seems to soften. "You should tell me whatever it is you're scared of. Maybe I can help you not be so afraid."

"I'm  _not_  afraid," Clara readily corrects her, frowning herself now as she crosses her arms defensively, making the Doctor smile a little. "But I know that I've fallen in love with you once," Clara pauses, blinking quickly to ward off tears, "and it nearly broke my heart to know we would never work." The Doctor seems to straighten at that, her posture tensing a little.

"I'm different now," the Doctor whispers quietly, her eyes searching Clara's. "It could be different now." But Clara just shakes her head, and something in the Doctor's hearts shatters at the rejection--amplified and more pronounced than anything she's felt before.

"You know I don't care that you're a woman, Doctor." Clara lightly chuckles, rolling her eyes. "A gorgeous one, at that."

Ignoring the compliment, the Doctor realizes Clara's misunderstood her and wasn't actually rejecting her, but rather the idea that a change in sex would change the romantic dynamic of their relationship. A spark of hope ignites in her gut as she laughs breathlessly, relieved.

"No," the Doctor starts again, trying to explain. "I mean, _we_ could be different. This time around, we could be _more_." And to demonstrate the Doctor reaches to run her thumb across Clara's wet chin, eliciting more tears from the girl's eyes.

"He's always loved you, Clara," the Doctor confides, speaking of her previous self. "I,me-- _the person_ \--have always loved you. My previous regeneration was a bit of a nervous wreck when it came to complex emotions like love and affection," she laughs, "but, there's something about being a woman now. I want to act on those feelings, be not so hesitant to voice them."

Clara bites her lip and frowns, bewildered by the confession.

"I suppose what I'm trying to say is that I don't want to waste anymore time making excuses as to why loving you is a bad idea. Especially when now all I can think about is how terrific an idea it is."

The shorter girl shook her head in awe, something of a smile on her lips. It gained a bright grin from the Doctor.

"What are we waitin' for, then?" Clara says, raising an eyebrow. "We've got some running to do, you clever girl."


	2. Your Touch - Twelve/Clara AU

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Alternate universe where the Doctor is abusive to his beloved Clara. Don't read if you have triggers for physically abusive relationships or experiences.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Angst, angst, angst.

"Clara!"

Clara, taking a deep, measured breath, looked up from her book and shut it quietly. Her eyes flitted about her floor of the vast library, trying to see where he was. He sounded pretty far off, perhaps somewhere near the second floor. He didn't find her in her usual spot, the big cushioned chair by one of the fireplaces.

No, she'd found a new spot.

"Clara!" He cried again, shouting for her from several floors below. "I know you're in here!"

She flinched, automatically shrinking further into the chair. It had been engrained in her, that movement, for a while now.

There was shuffling as he searched around the second floor. Then running, running up staircases. Third floor. She swallowed. More silence. And then running up another flight of stairs. Fourth floor.

"Please, Clara, where are you?!"

But she stayed silent. Her book long forgotten, her small hands now sat in her lap, shaking.  _The eighth floor was high up enough, wasn't it? He would never guess she'd be up here. Would he?_

"Clara!"

She shut her eyes tight, trying to block him out that way. She couldn't plug her ears. Then she wouldn't hear how close he was.

"My Clara, please.  _Please_."

She opened her eyes, blinking back frustrated, angry tears. There was an inflection in his voice. That raw, raw pain and regret that would always fill the Doctor's Scottish baritone the day after. She knew he probably had tears in his eyes, that they were puffy and red rimmed. It always hurt him more when she hid, she knew.

Usually she would run to him. She'd throw herself into his arms and let him hold her tight against him as he whispered endless apologies and chanted over and over his adoration for her. Usually she'd forgive almost immediately, allow him to take her to the sickbay and let him heal her various bruises and cuts. He never let them turn into scars. And she'd let him forget because she wanted to forget. Usually she'd make him push past it, make him smile, let him reel her right back in and whiz her around time and space.

Usually she would to ignore the nightmares of the man who wore her Doctor's face but smelled of hard liquor and hot rage, how he would hit and shove and push and slam her around the TARDIS while the ship groaned and wheezed in protest. Usually she'd ignore the the way her body ached in the morning, covering her bruises with as much makeup as possible.

Because she had to remember: that's not him. That wasn't  _her_  Doctor. That man--the man wore the same face, the same clothes and had the same voice--it wasn't her Doctor.

Her Doctor was the man who would wince while she recovered in the sickbay, his eyes wet and full of anguish when he saw her purple skin. He was the man who would avoid her for days on end until she had finally coaxed him out of his self hatred. He was the man who made her laugh and smile and showed her the wonders of the universe before returning her home safely.

But now, as Clara looked down at her sleeved arms knowing what lie underneath, she didn't know what else to say. What else to  _lie_. Because it was the same man, it was the Doctor.

-

A few hours had passed when she finally got up the nerve to leave the library. She had expected to find him in her room, like she had on a few occasions before. But he wasn't anywhere to be seen. She didn't know whether to be frustrated or relieved.

Clara looked around her room for an old book of hers, wanting to take it back to the library with her. When she couldn't find it she went to the console room, spotting it in the seats near the console. She smiled a little.

"I was looking for you."

She whipped around to see the Doctor standing halfway up the stairs. He looked like he had been in the process of walking down them but had thought better of it.

"Hey." She breathed, taking in his crazy silver curls and tired eyes that were glued to hers. She tried her hardest to stay put.

The Doctor almost smiled but it came out as a grimace. "Hi."

Clara looked away from him, missing the small frown that appeared on his face. She clutched her book to her chest, crossing her arms. A defense. But she said nothing, her eyes anywhere but his.

"If you'd like, we can get you all patched up now. Sickbay's right around the--"

"No." She interrupted, her tone firm and cold.

"What?"

"I said no." She sighed, suppressing the sob that had been lodged into the back of her throat since she entered the room. "Not today."

They were both silent after Clara spoke, and she could practically hear the wheels turning in the Doctor's brain. When she heard him start to descend the stairs her eyes snapped towards his again and her body starting moving before she could think. Her feet quickly moved to back away from him until the console itself was between them.

The Doctor's frown deepened and twisted his older face, his pale eyes full of a deep remorse and fear that only he could manage. While she didn't exactly know what he was afraid of, Clara could see him struggling for control of his emotions as he walked slowly towards the opposite side of the console, laying his hands flat on the interface like he was bracing himself.

"Where were you?" He asked quietly, not wanting to spook her. He could tell she was little more on edge today, he could feel her trust in him slipping further and further away. He couldn't let that happen, it would kill him.

"Why?" Clara snapped, angry at her shaking hands and even angrier at the fingerprints that had started blossoming purple on her neck. "Why were you looking for me?"

The Doctor could tell today would be difficult for the two of them and he knew she probably wouldn't want to see him for a while after this. He'd have to work hard to get her to come back.

"Because I knew you would hide." He said, his voice measured but laced with guilt. "And I didn't want you to. I didn't want you to hide from me."

Clara didn't know what to say to that. So she decided to ignore it. They were silent again for a few moments before the Doctor spoke again, startling Clara a little.

"Why don't you want to go to the sickbay?" He inquired. He hoped he wasn't letting on how much it bothered him. But Clara could hear the anxiety in his voice, the apprehension. She wondered if he had given up trying to hide it.

Their eyes met, light blue on deep brown. "Because it'll make it easier to forget. And I don't know if I want to forget."

If she'd struck him hard across his face it would not have hurt as much. The Doctor cleared his throat, his jaw clenching quietly. He didn't know what to do.

"What happened?" Clara finally said, looking him in his sorrowful eyes.

He bit his lip nervously, already in knowing what she meant. "When?"

"Last night." She said, her tone unforgiving and blunt. She swallowed roughly, trying to keep her tears in her eyes. "It's been  _four weeks_  and there was  _nothing wrong_ , and then last night--" A sob ripped through her then, cutting her off. She was blinded by her tears, swiping at them angrily as she fought the borderline hysteria inside her.

"Your hands," she choked out, shuddering at the memory of his large hands wrapped around her throat as he squeezed her airway shut.

The Doctor, who had been watching and listening warily, felt the air go from his lungs when Clara mentioned what he had done to her. He had seen the hand prints along her neck, but it somehow hurt even more to hear her say it. To watch her tremble when talked about him, how frightened she looked. And it was his fault.

He begged her. "Please, just  _stop_ \--"

Clara cut him off, shaking her head. She could feel the red hot anger in her stomach, burning away her desire to keep quiet and spare him. "I thought I was going to die, Doctor! I thought that you would--"

"Never!" He nearly shouted, his face heartbroken as he reached for her. "Clara, my Clara--"

" _No_!" She cried, something breaking inside her. Her heart, probably. "I am  _not_  yours, not anymore."

The Doctor starting moving to walk towards her and she jumped away, fear seizing her again as she got ready to turn and flee. "N-no, don't run." He stuttered out quickly, looking pained to even have to say it "Clara--"

"Don't." She warned.

He was getting closer. "Just let me--"

" _No_!" She took a deep breath, forcing her heartbeat back to something semi regular. She stopped moving, testing herself to see how close she'd let him to her. He stopped walking and was now three feet away.

He had flinched when she shouted, surprised. She'd never yelled before.

"We can't keep doing this, Doctor." She whispered, a rebellious tear falling from her brown eyes. "We can't, I can't."

His face fell even further and it was all he could do not to reach out and touch her. "I know, I know, Clara. And I'm sorry, I'm so  _sorry_."

"That isn't good enough anymore." She whispered, hurling her book into the console before she dropped it from her trembling fingers. "That isn't  _good_   _enough_!"

It broke something in the Doctor to see his lovely companion cowering in front of him, so unbelievably afraid of him.  _Clara._

"It's difficult to explain, Clara," he said softly, watching her bruised form shiver. He slowly moved towards her, relieved when she didn't immediately take off. "But I am trying, I am."

"Try to explain it!" She pushed, impatient. "Try to explain why I stay here when I'm so bloody terrified of you!"

Every word she said tore at him, wore away his resolve and nearly drowned him in guilt. But he needed her, and that surpassed all else.

"I can't tell you why you've stayed with me after I--" he cleared his throat softly when it started to close, lightly brushing his fingertips over her shoulders. She went completely still, suddenly aware of close he was. "But I need you, Clara."

She shook her head, turning her head from his. But he was close enough now to careful hook a finger under her chin and her her face back to his. She didn't move, too tired and too enraptured by him.

The old man gently ran his hands over her shoulders, leaning his forehead against hers. His eyes were shut tight as Clara let him hold her.

"I  _need_  you." He echoed.


	3. Your Touch - Part Two - Twelve/Clara AU

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Clara's left the TARDIS, but will she be gone for long?

Three weeks after Clara had left the TARDIS that night after the Doctor had relapsed, she had made her decision not to return. He hadn't bothered her while she was debating the choice that would undoubtedly change the course of her life, and she was grateful for his respectful distance. It had been a very difficult decision to make, whether or not she would walk through those gorgeous blue doors again-- for her to say no to the stars and planets, entire galaxies in different times and places, and with different people who lived and had stories and lives of their own. To never seeing her Doctor again. It was the type of decision that left wine and liquor bottles completely empty, left tears on your pillow at night and circles under your eyes the next day as you wracked your brain for a solution to a very impossible problem.

Impossible problem for an Impossible Girl.

She'd been home in those three weeks, taking a leave of absence from Coal Hill while she healed physically, knowing three weeks wasn't nearly enough time to heal psychologically. She'd only left her flat for groceries and the occasional walk around her neighborhood, the walls in her home seeming to close in on her if she stayed there too long. She felt more judged being cooped up at home than she did in public, the eyes on her outside not nearly as daunting as the complete silence behind closed doors.

 _You'll run from me._ He hadn't been able to look at her when he said it, though his hearts sounded as broken as she felt. _You won't come back if you go. If I let you go now, you'll just run._

 _I need to get away. Give me some time,_  she'd told him, gathering the shoulder bag that held the few items she kept on board that magical ship.  _To think._

She'd known the bag she was taking with her was what unnerved him. If she was leaning towards coming back to him, she wouldn't need a bag. But he had nodded anyway and said he understood.

 _This probably goes without saying_ , he told her, taking a few steps towards her. She'd been too tired to flinch away--she hadn't slept since they'd fought two days prior.  _But, Clara,_ he'd said, his voice low and thick with emotion he so rarely let her see.  _I don't want you to go. I am not trying to push you away; I never wanted you to leave._

The faint smile on her face didn't reassure him in the least, but only furthered his worrying and made him ache more.  _Everyone leaves at some point, Doctor._

 _Not_ you _,_ he said stubbornly, storm grey eyes fixed on hers in a flash.  _Not like this._

 _I just..._ She had paused to clear her thoughts of the range of emotions that would threaten the validity of words spoken out of anger or trepidation. When she calmed down she finished.  _I think you need help, Doctor. You can't live this half-life you're living, being plagued by your own demons and plaguing other people, unintentionally instilling an unhealthy fear in others and yourself._

 _I know._ He told her, and it sounded like he did know. But even if he did, she had to remind herself quickly: it won't change anything that's happened.  _I'm so sorry, Clara._

She'd turned away at that word, unable to handle how empty and meaningless it'd become over the past months. His apologies, when given, used to hold a weight that she treasured because he never thought he made mistakes. His apologies, his  _sorry_ used to be his  _I love you_  to Clara. Now, it was just another word followed by other words that formed sentences that constructed the foundation of the bullshit life with him she'd grown to tolerate.

Until now. No more.

So she'd opened the door to the TARDIS and closed it without turning back, walking briskly out into the night, to her building. She had noticed that the blue police box hadn't started to wheeze and disappear until she was safely inside.

But now, nearly a month later, she found herself at the park not too far from where her father lived, having just come from visiting with him and her gran. She thought they'd been pleased to see her, if not worried about her thinning shape and dull, sullen eyes that had once held such mischief and curiosity. It had been fairly alright to sit for an hour with what was left of her small family and forget about what had happened to her. They made it easy, her dad and gran-- they'd always been rather intuitive, capable of seeing the things people meant to keep hidden and choosing to overlook them until the time was right.

But after tea with finger sandwiches and biscuits, Clara wasn't ready to return to an empty flat where memories of her times with Danny and the Doctor lurked, crept and lingered, the place where she was often rendered into a shivering, sobbing mess. So she went to the park where more peaceful recollections of her mum and dad floated around in her subconscious, safe and innocent in their nature and unable to harm her. She chose one of the swings on the small swing set and closed her eyes, thinking she was imagining the familiar sound of the TARDIS materializing. It was a common hallucination her mind performed, a trick that was starting to get worn out with its constant repetition and hurtful side effects, but when she opened her eyes to see the great blue box a few yards away, she nearly sighed with relief. Maybe she  _wasn't_  going mad.

"Beautiful day out," he says, complimenting the weather when he sees her on the swing, gently pushing herself to and fro. "Not very typical for this bit of the planet, is it?" It's rhetorical but Clara responds anyway, eager to show him she's not so afraid of him anymore.

"It's been very cheery outdoors lately, actually," she informs him, wondering where he's been that he doesn't know about the recent weather. But then she remembers it's not exactly her business anymore. "How'd you know where to find me?"

" _Oh_ ," he sighs nonchalantly, offering up an uncommitted shrug. "The TARDIS keeps tabs on everyone that comes through her doors more than once, she's programmed that way." Clara hears what he's saying but knows what he really means:  _I've been keeping an eye out for you._

She smiles and let's herself really look at him for a moment, figuring that this moment will be one of the last moments they ever have together.

It's not like a breakup with a girlfriend or boyfriend, how you see them a few weeks or months afterwards and they don't look too well--tired eyes and haggard expressions with frown lines and unkempt looks. The Doctor is... well, he's the  _Doctor_. He looks good (as always), his stubble is gone, shaven clean off and his mop of fluffy silver curls has been combed and sits neatly on his head. His clothes are still decidedly minimalistic, this version of him sticking with regular slim dark jeans, a black jumper and hoodie with those clunky boots--not the waistcoat and bow-tie-wearing dork he was in his previous incarnation. Everything is pressed and neat and-and... and she  _isn't_. She realizes she probably looks disgusting without her makeup, in her simple jean and t-shirt ensemble, unable to really put any real effort into her clothing choices for a while now. Her hair isn't even done, but instead lies limp around her shoulders, mimicking the rest of her demeanor.

She nearly laughs at the irony of it all.

"You look well." She finally forces out after a too long kept silence; it's definitely a compliment, more than polite but actually sincere. And he takes the words to be earnest, smiling a little as he takes a few more steps to sit in the swing next to her. It's a bizarre sight, Clara thinks, seeing a tall older man scrunched up into a seat that only small bottoms are meant to sit on.

"So do you."

She laughs at him, shaking her head into the breeze with embarrassment lining her words. "That's a lie."

He scoffs quietly and then swallows, looking everywhere but her face. "Well, yes and no." He replies easily enough, tilting his head as he observes the slide several feet away.

"Aesthetically, of course, you don't look yourself--but I suppose I can't blame you for that." He pauses, swallowing again. "But  _also_ , of course," he says softly, glancing at her quickly, "I'll never see you for anything more or less than what you are."

She knows she shouldn't, but she does anyway. And he knows she will, he  _wants her to_. He pleads for her cautiousness to come to an end and trust him long enough for him to just say the words they both need to hear. He just wants to  _hear_ her speak--god, he never knew how alone he had been until she left him dazed and suddenly without anything that mattered. He  _needs_ her to ask. And she does. Because she is defiant of her own uncertainty; because the curiosity trumps her need to be and feel secure and in control; because this is  _her_ Doctor and she  _does_ know him, no matter what the voices that sometimes include her own may whisper to her in the dead of night-- because of all this, she  _asks_ him, her voice breathless and airy.

"What am I?"

And that's when his squinting grey eyes turn to her brown orbs and frown in utter confusion but total surrender. "Beautiful," he tells her. "And broken."

"Hmm." The tiniest smile makes it's way to the corner of her mouth. "I think that's the very time you've ever complimented me directly. But, it was immediately followed by an insult, so I don't think it really counts."

"It should," he protests, looking away from her again. "I want it to. I want to say things like that more often. I should! Because I  _do_  think you're the most beautiful thing I've ever seen, and you shouldn't have to get hurt, be dying or leave for me to say it."

"Doctor--"

"Come back with me." He says lowly, frowning at the slide in front of them, like it is the most frustrating object in this world. "Don't even argue, please. We've done enough of that to last a lifetime, and I want to spend as much time for however long it takes rectifying all the wrong I've done, all the hurt I've caused."

His eyes catch hers and she wears weary smile on her face. "I care for you, Clara Oswald, in a way that I know is not safe or rational for either of us; in a way that burns like hot coals and pierces through me like a blade whenever I look at you--in a way that I'm so sure will be the end of the both of us someday. And when that day comes, and I'm almost certain that it will, I want to say that it was worth the destruction and turmoil because I got to have  _you_ \--because you let me love you, so wholly and completely that it didn't matter."

The tiny gasp that leaves Clara's mouth isn't necessarily a show of her shock--though is rather rattled by his confession. It's more of a testament to her uneasy hesitance. She knew he'd return to beg her to run away with him again, maybe stumble over his words as he struggle to remain articulate enough to get through his speech. He would make promises, vows he'd keep to ensure her security and safety, and he would apologize one more for his behavior.

But this... he was calm and decided, certain of exactly what it was he wanted to say to her and he hadn't made any promises he couldn't keep in regards to his mistakes. He just told her that he wanted her--for the first time, he's finally said it out loud outside the confines of a bedroom. The Doctor wanted to love her, and though he didn't say it she knew he wanted more than that: he wanted her to love him back, just as much as he loved her.

He'd-he'd complimented her... He called her 'beautiful'."  _The most beautiful thing I've ever seen._

"Run away with me, Clara," he urged beside her, and this time it was her who looked down and away from him. "Come back to me. Please."

But then her hands flew to her neck in remembrance, her vision blurring just with the thought of him relapsing again. The image of him standing over her with a bloodied, tightly closed fist sent her stumbling up and away from the swing set to a bench not too far off, her throat closing as she tried to catch her breath. The Doctor, a little startled, frowned after her before he immediately followed suit, helping her to sit down on the bench before he knelt down to hover in front of her.

"Mild panic attack from the looks of it," he diagnoses speedily, waving the screwdriver at her. "You should be fine a moment, just breathe. Focus on your breathing."

He wasn't touching her, wouldn't touch her, but he was close enough for Clara's knee to brush against his stomach. "Okay, okay," she panted, already feeling her heart rate slow as she stared into those grey-blue eyes of his. "I'm sorry."

He smiles and shakes his head. "Perfectly normal reaction." The grin was self-depreciating and made Clara's chest ache.

"Doctor," she says with a sigh, looking down at his hands. She makes a split second decision and grabs them, relieved when he doesn't let go or tense, but rather he tightens his grip. "I've missed you. I didn't know how hard it would be to not see or talk to you until the end of the second week after I left. You're such a big part of my life, you've become essential to me-- and I didn't know it until you were gone. I... I can barely remember the woman I was before we met."

He tilts his head as he watches her and she takes that as an inspiration to continue their difficult conversation. "I love you. You know that, you have known that for a long time, I suspect. I've never really hid it or pretended otherwise." A helpless shrug and a watery sob cause the Doctor to soften, his brows furrowing. "But I'm so afraid."

"I know," he whispers apologetically, daring to remove his hand from hers to place it gently on her cheek. She doesn't flinch but she doesn't lean into his touch like she used to either. "And you've no idea  
how difficult it is for me to hear, how painful it is to see you like this--to remember it's my fault."

Clara closes her eyes and decides to take his hand off her cheek, which causes him to falter a bit. "How do I know we won't just end up here again? I'm not this person, this woman, Doctor. And I don't ever want to be. I don't want to have to constantly keep my best friend at arms length!"

"I've gotten help," he suddenly says, smiling a little, the hope swelling in his eyes making his female counterpart nervous. "Like you asked. I've started classes and gone to groups--they want me to get a sponsor, and I want you to be my sponsor, Clara. I want you to see me get better up close, not in between the gaps when I come visit you."

"You want me to move back into the TARDIS?" She raises a brow, her eyes wandering to the blue box that she's sure still carries unpleasant memories.

The anxiety on her face makes the Doctor amend his request hurriedly. "Not immediately, not now. Not if you're uncomfortable, that's the las thing I want."

Clara releases a breath she didn't know she was holding, nodding a bit as she soaks that in.  _Not now. No pressure._ "So what are you saying? What are you asking?"

The legendary Time Lord stands to his feet before offering her his hand. She doesn't hesitate to take it, and he grins. She straightens as stands to her full height, having forgotten how much taller he was than her. His hands slide down her arms until he his lightly holding her, reveling in the way she's actually here--not a figment or a daydream or a nightmare of his. But she's actually here.

He'd do anything to keep her  _here_.

"I want you to come back," The Doctor clarifies. "Or I'll stay here, on Earth. If you're not entirely okay with staying in the TARDIS yet, I'll stay. I'll wait for you."

She scoffs incredulously. "You can't do that."

"Oh, but I can."

"You'll get bored!"

He finds that funny, a quick laugh traveling to her ears. "Sitting in one spot for more than a few hours, maybe. It's happened before. But you're not boring, Clara Oswald."

"I don't know if I'll ever be ready," she confesses slowly, trying a different tactic as another tear falls from her cheek. "You can't stay here waiting for me, Doctor. There are people that need you to save them--"

"I have to save  _me_  first, Clara," he interrupts with a disapproving frown. "I have to save  _us_  first. I can't save anyone from anything until I fix what's been broken here, between you and me. I'm useless otherwise!" His stormy eyes take on a desperation and longing that worries her because she knows what he's like when he's got nothing left to lose. And it's not safe.

"Don't send me away again, Clara. I'm-I'm not ready to give up on you, and I'm not planning on it anytime soon." He begs, stepping closer to her when she moves her palms flat against his chest. "Tell me you'll come back with me, or tell me you want me to stay. I'm not going anywhere without you, Miss Oswald."

And she really doesn't want him to. She wants him to stay, or she go with him--flying off in that blue box again, having adventures. When her chocolate eyes meet his intense grey ones, she's reminded of how much she does love him despite their distance and her efforts to rid herself of him. He's hurt her and she's hated him for it, but hate is too strong an emotion for someone you don't love.

So she sighs and then quickly crosses her arms, stepping away from him a little. "You'll have to keep the TARDIS in my flat, so no one will see it."

The Doctor's entire face lights up as she struggled to keep his composure. "Of course."

"And you can't drink anymore." She states firmly, unmoving in her request. He doesn't seem all that fazed, however.

"I've been sober since the day you left. So it shouldn't be a problem." He adds confidently.

"You'll have to sleep on the sofa until I feel comfortable having you in the same bed with me again."

"We might have to get a more comfortable sofa, but, okay. That's fine."

Clara nods and then grabs him by the lapels of his jacket, wrapping her arms around his neck with a quiet whimper. He's clutching her to him, a secure hold around her middle as she cries into his shoulder. His cheek is planted firmly on her head as he squeezes his eyes shut and releases a shuddering breath of his own.

"Don't ever hurt me again, Doctor," she begs. "I won't be able to forgive you a second time."

"I will never betray your trust again, Impossible Girl. Not for as long as I live." He promises fiercely. "I love you."

"I love you, clever boy."


	4. Puppy Love - Tom Hiddleston x OFC

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Tom has had his neighbor, Darcy, watch his dog, Joey, for years now. What happens when she starts to see him as more than a friend?

I'm a professional at falling in love.

I've fallen in love with plenty of people I'm not supposed to ever even _think_ _about_ in a romantic way. Teachers twice my age in grade school that drove minivans packed with three or four kids, some of which were my age. Gay friends in college that I'd ended up making out with when we'd both gotten a little too drunk at a party. More than one white boy who "just wasn't into" black girls. The one boss that flirted with anything with a pulse in the office, but chose only to shag  _me_  every time his wife was out of town. Men I thought winked at me in the bar but really just had something in their eye.

I was ridiculous and hopeless and shameful--and Tom, bless him, he actually liked me that way.

He'd tease me about it every chance he got, how I would bat my lashes any time anyone showed me a lick of attention. He'd been the one to rescue me from the bad, bad boyfriends I had over the years, and he was my large, toned shoulder to cry on whenever I needed him. And since he was just next door, I had the convenience of coming round whenever I liked.

"Do you remember when I used to actually  _knock_ before coming inside your apartment?" I'd giggled one day as we sat on his couch munching away at a chocolate bar he'd gotten while filming  _Thor 2_.

He had grinned around his mouthful, eyes twinkling happily. "Just barely," he confessed. "Do you remember when you  _didn't_ have a key? Or when _I_  didn't have a key to your place?"

I did remember, but it seemed like it had lifetime ago. We'd both been just starting out then, neither one of us possessing a clue.

"You only gave me your key so I could come and check on Joey while you worked on Thor," I remembered, looking over to the four-year-old Jack Russell that had been pretending to sleep until his ears perked at the sound of his name. I smiled. "But once you decided he could just stay with me and Gizmo, you never did take it back."

Gizmo, my Ragdoll cat, was currently cuddling with Tom's throw pillow that we'd quickly learned was his favorite thing to play with he came over to Tom's place.

"Well, we knew each other well enough by then, didn't we? I didn't need to take it back," Tom frowns in thought. "Plus, we work such weird hours all the time and wouldn't hear from each other for days at a time. I just wanted to be able to pop in and make sure you were alright."

"Me, too," I agreed, laughing at a memory that's suddenly resurfaced. "Remember the one time you thought I'd been kidnapped because I never let you know I'd got home from the airport? And it was, like, three in the morning--"

"--of course I do! One of the most terrifying nights of my life!" Tom easily picks up the story when I break out into a fit out giggles. "Three AM, you're fresh off the plane from Dubai and you called to tell me you were on your way in, but your mobile died or something, so you our call cut out. And you were so exhausted that when you finally got home, you didn't bother to call me back!"

When I've recovered enough and my sides have stopped aching, I finish the fateful story that has, ultimately, made us even closer friends. "And so you hopped on the first flight to London from Korea--for which Luke nearly murdered you for--only find me dead asleep."

Tom's bashful smile is all the right kinds of perfect; perfect teeth, perfect smile, prefect lips-- _stop, Darcy. Knock. It. Off._

"Again," Tom starts predictably, "I'm very sorry for waking you, Darce. I was, um, a bit delirious and exhausted, and had too much to drink on the flight over. And you scared the bloody hell out me, not returning my calls like that."

To keep from looking at those crystal blue eyes, I quickly managed to snatch his bar of candy away before taking a generous bite of it.

Which, of course, led to running and chasing, yelling and biting, tickling and swearing as Tom Hiddleston, my best friend, tried to avenge his bar of chocolate.

-

I've known for a while that I've been in love with Tom. I've tried several times to pinpoint the exact time and location of my plunge to what I figured would be my undoing, but because Tom has been so perfect on so many occasions, the task proved too difficult in the end and I relented my search. It didn't matter, I told myself. I loved him (stupid, stupid idiot) and I was too much of a coward to tell him so. I was too content with being his dog-sitter/best friend to worry too much about it. Plus, I was a busy woman, almost as busy as Tom himself. Sure, he was a busy actor that got more and more roles all the time, but as a consultant for some pretty large companies in Dubai and Beijing, I was gone for weeks at a time and didn't always have time to pine over someone that I was sure saw me as not more than an upgrade from a younger sibling.

Sometimes I felt that the only reason I had even known Tom for as long as I had was because I usually took Joey and Gizmo with me when I went out town since Tom never could. He hated boarding the fiesty little man for months at a time or having to find a service that would allow a stranger into his home to dog sit. So it had been a no-brainer for him to ask the sweet young woman next door that loved to play with the dog anyway.

I'd mentioned my doubts about our friendship before to the man himself once or twice before, but I was always viciously shot down. The last thing Tom wanted me to ever worry about was that he was using me.  _You're my friend, Darcy,_ he'd assured me one night when I'd been pretty deep in my low self-esteem feels. _You're irreplaceable and indispensable, and I'd never hurt you. You can stop doubting your worth to me, because you're not going anywhere._ He'd drew me into those big, warm arms of his and I let my tears soak the front of his t-shirt, grabbing into him so tight I thought he'd break.  _I love you, Munchkin, and you love me._

 _Yeah_ , I'd thought bitterly.  _If only you knew, kid._

_-_

Tom was due to leave for Australia for the third installment of Thor in a week, and I just gotten back from a last minute meet with some bigwigs from Korea in the States. I was cranky and hormonal and especially depressed--as I always am when I know I won't see Tom for months. Gizmo had been anxiously pacing circles in the apartment for days, eyeing me warily as I took on the form of a lethargic neanderthal. My hair was a mess, back to it's naturally dense state after having been straightened for weeks. My teeth hadn't brushed all day, it had been more than a few days since my last shower and the apartment was a mess, filled with loads of half-eaten takeout and pints of strawberry ice cream.

Oh. And Tom was dating Taylor  _fucking_ Swift. As if I needed more than one thing to be insecure about, Tom was dating the all-time pantomime white girl.

They were  _everywhere_. The television, tabloids, the newspaper. Twitter and Instagram were being rampaged by sickened, aggrieved Hiddlestoners who sought out a war with enthralled Swifties who were still getting over the whole Calvin Harris clapback. The rest of the world, the impassive side that didn't care much about either, had turned their eyes on the newest "power couple" and immediately started circulating marriage proposal rumors about "Hiddleswift".

I had talked to Tom rarely during my month-long stay in Seattle, only calling to update him about the latest Joey and Gizmo chronicles when I wasn't being swamped with paperwork or business-related mediating. Fixing and regulating my clients various problems didn't leave much time for social media explorations, so it wasn't until I got to the airport that I saw Tom and Taylor plastered all over the place.

He hadn't mentioned her once. And telling myself that that didn't mean anything was a lie.

When Gizmo starts hissing loudly from what sounds like the den, I manage to roll myself out from underneath my sheets of despair, pull on my robe, and search him out. I find him on the kitchen counter, back hairs raised as my phone vibrates not two feet away. I'm close enough to see that it's Tom calling.

"Fuck," I whisper, picking up my possessed cat to try and soothe the traumatic experience he's just had, rubbing behind his ears as he purrs at the sight of me. "We don't want to twalk to the bwad man, do we, Gizzy honey?"

Gizmo meows his distaste with my baby-talk, but still places his paw on my cheek calmly now that mommy is here and will make the demonic buzzing stop.

"What if he wants me to meet her?" I ask my cat, feeling the strong urge to throw the phone into the kitchen's garbage disposal. "What if they  _are_ getting married and Tom makes me be his best man?"

Gizmo's bright blue eyes shift from my face to the still buzzing phone, an annoyed expression on his face. He doesn't like my priorities at the moment. I roll my eyes and sigh, pressing the green button hesitantly. Mostly so my cat won't claw my face off. I put Tom on speaker, knowing Gizmo gets a kick out of it.

"Hiddleston," I greet, not even trying to fake cheeriness as I reassuringly comb my fingers through Gizmo's hair. "What do you want?"

"What the  _bloody hell_ , Darcy Wilson, where have you been?" His deep voice with its stupid accent purr right through the receiver and immediately I'm aware of how many months it's been since I've had sex.

"What are you talking about?" I brush off his worried words, imagining him rubbing long, sinful fingers through is hair, wishing he were doing that to me instead.

"I've been trying to call you for ages! I rang you five times and this is the first you've answered." Gizmo leaps from the comforts of my lap to the counter again, pawing at the phone in wonder as Tom speaks, confused.

"I'm a busy woman," I half-lie. "I've got many more important things to do than to wait for you to call me," I bite, a little snappier than need be. But I'm angry with him and the need to throw a tantrum is a bit stronger than I care to admit.

"Well, Darce, you know I'm sorry for not phoning you sooner, darling," he croons smoothly and I have to resist a hefty eye roll.  _Pfft, darling my ass, Hiddlseton._ "I'm an idiot and you really are the best for putting up with me."

See, Tom's an  _excellent_ ass-kisser. Superb. He flashes that charmed grin and oozes his perfection all over people and it gets them infected with forgiveness like the weak, poor souls they are. And normally I'd be pretty infected with Tom-flu right about now. But I love him, and I watch his crazy little dog who pees on my carpet, and he thinks he can date Taylor  _fucking_ Swift and let me find out about it when I'm checking my luggage at the damn airport. So I think it's safe to say I'm immune to the Thomas germs.

"What you want, Hiddleston?" I finally blurt out, pulling my cat off the counter before he accidentally switches off the call. Gizmo mewls with disappointment and I can almost hear him calling me a fun-snatcher.

"I'm outside, Darcy," she says with a grin in his voice. "So, come open the door and let me in."

I hang up on him before I can yell. Stomping over to the door, I vaguely remember that I look like utter and complete shit and will probably be mistaken for a wild animal. But then I remember that Tom could care less what I look like since he probably doesn't even know I have a vagina.

"You've got flowers," I say deftly, a distrustful frown on my face as soon as I see Tom's face. His grin stays glued on his smug-looking mug even though I see it falter at my tone. "You never bring flowers."

"I don't," he acknowledges, the grin diminishing to a weird smile. "I should. I will," he amends, tilting his head at me. "You should let me in, Darcy."

"The house is a mess because I didn't clean," I scramble for an excuse. It's not the real reason I don't want to see him, but it'll do. Gizmo wiggles in my arms and so I let him go back inside, knowing he's probably displeased with Tom for not bringing Joey out to play.

Tom raises an eyebrow. "A messy apartment? Really?" He scoffs quietly. "Since when have either of us ever cared about how _messy_ the other's place was, Darce?"

"You're leaving soon," I throw out my next defense, crossing my arms over my stomach. "You have to pack, you're busy."

"I'm not," Tom insists, stepping forward and straightening his back, towering over me even more. "I'm not busy, I'm back in town and I'm standing right here in front of you. With flowers."

"I look like shit."

"I think you look gorgeous," he defends, looking offended by my opinion of myself. "You know I love when you wear your hair like that. The curls are lovely, and I wish you wouldn't straighten it all the the time."

"So?" My voice, along with my resolve, wavers.

" _So_ ," Tom says, eyes softening as he reaches out to hand me the bouquet, "let me in, Munchkin."

The usage of his favorite nickname isn't lost on me, and suddenly my throat is closing and my eyes are burning and I am wishing I had never met him. Because it hurts too much to look at him and know he can never see me that way. It hurts to dream and hope away the nights, wondering what it would be like to come home to him everyday, burning things in the kitchen. It hurts to hear the hated words  _best friend_ whenever he introduces me to his colleagues. It hurts to know he sleeps with girls that her blonde hair and blue eyes with legs that go on for miles while I'm stuck at five and half feet with darker skin and more curves than I wish I had.

It  _burns_ to love a fantasy. It leaves marks and scars all over your heart that harden and warp until the stupid organ is unrecognizable and fucked up beyond hope. And I _can't_ do it anymore.

So I step back\, moving to close the door, my eyes all watery. "You should go, Tom."

His entire face falls and the suave, confident actor has disappeared and left him with just the man. Just the man and his best girl.

"May I ask why?" He has an odd look on his face. "Have I--did I do something wrong?"

"You're with Taylor now, and I get it," I breathe, barely noticing the way his face crumbles. The wobbly smile I force to my face makes me want to throw up. "You guys seem really happy, and as your friend, I'm happy for you if you're happy being with her."

The flowers have been dropped to his side as his eyes find his shoes with a frown. "I meant to beat you to it, Darcy." He looks up from his feet and his eyes are the saddest I've seen in a while. "You-you _were not_ supposed to find out that way, I'm sorry." His mouth flops uselessly as his jaw clenches.

"Taylor and me--Darcy, that's--"

"None of my business," I finished, unable to hear the rest. I take another literal and figurative step away from him licking my lips as I shrug, the forced smile brightening for his sake. "Look, I get it. Really, I do. Not enough room for two girls in your life, I understand. But I _am_ happy for you, Tom, and wish you both the best."

As if on cue, behind him, it starts to rain.

"You should go," I repeat, my voice breaking further as I laugh once.

"Can we just talk about this, maybe?" He tries to step towards me, but I close the door further. "Darcy?"

"Please go, Tom. I'd love to cry without an audience."

"Darce--"

I want to see what's made his voice all scratchy and pained, but can't look at him anymore. "Just bring Joey by before you go, alright?" And with that I reach up to lay one last kiss on his cheek and start to close the door.

"Have a safe trip, Tom."


	5. "It Looked Like An Orange"

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Little mishap on a planet makes Clara ill and the Eleventh Doctor very frustrated. Sickfic with angst and feels thrown in for good measure. Enjoy!!

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> FYI, sweeties, Eleven and Clara were my OTP before Twelve butted in and ruined us all. I tweaked this a little to make it less cringe-worthy. A much younger and inexperienced version of me wrote this in 2014, so forgive the simplicity lol.

Clara had been feeling funny ever since they had gotten back from...  _God, what had been the name of the planet, again? Frothus? Or had it been Freemus?_ She couldn't even remember the way her head was swimming. She gripped one of the rails in the TARDIS' console room, a dizzy spell passing over her that made her lose her footing. She was queasy and clammy and... and just _had_ to sit down before she fell over.

The Doctor, rather oblivious to his companion's developing symptoms, was twirling around the main console, flipping an array of switches and pressing buttons that made the ship jerk back and forth. Clara groaned, moving towards one of the chairs with the grace of a two year old.

The Doctor was continuing a rant that he'd started about ten minutes ago.

"...And it was absolutely  _marvelous_ , Clara! Buildings,  _a whole city_ , entirely made of sand! Like you were at a beach of some sort. But wasn't sand, it's some particle very similar to it, but not really. It's what  _you_  would think to call sand, but it's not. Quite a bit more complex than that. I should really take you sometime... maybe when I'm not saving your planet from destruction, eh?"

Clara clenched her eyes shut as a shaky breath escaped her. Suddenly the bodice of her dress seemed far too tight and she wanted nothing more than a hot shower and a bed.

"Quller," The Doctor continued, scratching his head. "That's the name of it, I think, the planet. Well, you can actually never be so sure of what it's called, that one. The civilians change the name every  _century_ , so every time I visit I have to learn a completely different name--"

"Does it seem a bit chilly in here, Doctor?" Clara said, speaking up finally. His babble was making her head ache.

The Doctor only frowned, moving towards the screen on the console. "Clara. I'm talking about one of the most magnificent sights in all the universe, and all you want to whine about is the temperature in the TARDIS?"

Clara opened her eyes only to roll them. "Doctor, I'm serious. I'm freezing."

"I feel quite warm, actually." He mumbled, grouse and upset at being interrupted. "The TARDIS is the exact same temperature it was before we left for Freemus, Clara."

Clara shivered, trying to ignore the pounding in her head as she spoke. "That's not  _possible_. It can't be."

The Doctor looked up from a switch he was tickering with, his eyes narrowing as he scrutinized Clara.

She was sweating profusely, her hair damp with perspiration and her skin a sickly pale color. Her grip on the rail seemed too tight for comfort and she appearedto be swaying to and fro, her balance off. But it was her eyes that gave it away.

The natural chocolate brown had given away to a bright blue, making her look like a completely different person. The Doctor grabbed his screwdriver and frowned.

"Clara. What did you eat while we were on Freemus?"

She could barely hear him, his voice sounded distorted and unnatural to her. She blinked. "Can't remember."

The Doctor quickly strode over to his friend, grabbing her shoulders. "Clara,  _please_. _Try_ and remember for me.  _What did you eat while we were on Freemus?_ "

Clara barely felt the Doctor's grip on her. Her senses began to dull and seen could feel her legs giving out under her.

" _Clara!_ " The Doctor cried, catching her just before fell. He pulled her up in to his arms before he started for her room, walking quickly down the corridor.

"Damn it, Clara. I told you  _not_  to eat  _anything_  orange from that planet. You didn't listen to me."

Clara, blinking up at the ceiling, smiled a little. "It looked like an orange. A proper orange."

The Doctor rolled his eyes before looking down at her, his big, sad eyes seemed a tad bigger than normal to Clara.

"Hang in there, Oswin."

"Who's Oswin?" Clara asked quietly.

But, of course, the Doctor didn't answer. They'd reached her room.

Placing her on the purple queen bed, the Doctor ran over to the water jug on her desk and poured the contents of a mug of tea onto the carpeted floor. "She won't mind." The Dcotor muttered, quickly assembling what he needed for a cure from the en suite bathroom.

"You should really listen to me when I tell you something is not safe, missy! Who knows, it might just save you life one day!"

Clara shut her eyes, her breaths labored. She body felt heavy, as did her eye lids. She just wanted to sleep...

"Doctor...?" She whispered.

"Hang in there, Clara." He urged her, producing the mug he dumped the tea out of. He pushed it towards Clara's lips. "Drink. Quickly, now, Clara."

But Clara's nose, which seemed to be the only thing she could still move, wrinkled at the smell of what she supposed was the antidote. The Doctor groaned when she weakly turned her head away.

"It smells."

The Dcotor smiled warily. "Ha. Very observant. Probably shouldn't tell you what's in it, then. But it should help with the fever."

"Okay." Clara said. She turned her head, and with the Doctor's help, swallowed some of the concoction. She coughed after she swallowed.

Doctor smiled again. "Good girl." He affirmed, brushing some hair from her face.

"Now what?" She asked before yawning.

"I think your body has already figured it out. Resting. You rest."

But Clara was already asleep, a soft snore escaping her mouth. The Doctor nodded, pulling a quilt from the other side of the room and covering Clara with it, tucking her in. He bent down to kiss her head before he left the room, closing the door behind him.

* * *

 

When Clara awoke, she was vaguely aware of the quilt covering her form. She was no longer feverish and sweating, but was still a bit sore, though it no longer felt like she'd just been hit by a truck. She slowly stretched before pulling the quilt around her body and walking out of her room in search of the Doctor.

She passed several corridors before she heard his voice floating. She grinned, continuing to walk toward the console room.

"... No, of course not... I'd  _never_... well, it was just that  _one time_ , Prime Minister, and I did return her back in time for your wedding. Of course! She was an absolute gem."

Clara walked up the few steps to see her friend on the TADRIS's telephone, waving his hands about. He turned around and smiled widely when he saw Clara.

"Clara." He said, waving. Clara laughed before waving back.

The Doctor, suddenly remembering he was on the phone said "No! Not your Clara. My Clara. Yep, I've got a new one. Much better than yours, I think... No. Quite sure about that one. Alright, sir. Goodbye!"

He hung up with a large grin on his face. "Good afternoon, Clara. Well, I suppose it's afternoon. At least on Earth. Space doesn't really have... that sort of thing. ."

Clara frowned, rolling her eyes. "A simple hello would have done just fine, but good afternoon to you, too, Doctor."

"You slept for a while, I was going to wake you after my call with the Prime Minister." He told her, flipping a switch on the console that made the TARDIS wheeze.

"How long was I out?"

He shrugged. "About twenty-eight hours. It wasn't that bad. I've seen worse. But, still, I was on my way to check on you."

"A day? I was asleep for over a day?" She asked, incredulous. Her grip on the quilt tightened as she sunk into a chair.

"Yes, yes. Not to worry, though. I've had the TARDIS monitor your vital signs ever since you lost consciousness." He looked at the screen, smiling a little. "You should be back to normal in a day or two."

Clara rubbed her temples. "Which Prime Minister?"

"Sorry?" The Doctor replied, confused. Then his face brightened again. "Ah, yes, him. Nano Strap is his name. Great man... well, he's not a _man_ but, you know. Fantastic clarinet player, exemplary."

Clara giggled and the Doctor started towards her, his eyes down.

"You scared me, Oswald. Nearly lost you back there." He whispered, his voice betraying his small smirk. Clara sighed.

"I know. I'm sorry." His eyes met hers and she frowned when he let out a small laugh.

"They're still blue. Not completely, but they aren't brown either." He said, moving towards her slowly.

"My eyes? My--I have blue eyes right now?"

"It's one of the symptoms of the fruit you ate. Queasy stomach, perspiration, soreness, headache... and blue eyes."

Clara frowned. "Weird."

The Doctor's face had turned into a very serious mask, his eyes hard and unyielding. Clara couldn't help but look back and try to make the intensity of his gaze.

"You've got to promise me something, Clara. You've got to promise that you won't do anything that reckless again. I can't protect you if you never listen to me."

His eyes searched hers for some sort of defiance, some kind of rebuke or argument. But, to his surprise, he only found remorse.

"I am sorry, Doctor. And I promise." She said softly.

He sighed, frowning down at her. "You are impossible. My Clara... the Impossible Girl."

She smiled before he caught her up in his arms, holding her so fiercely it hurt. But it was a good hurt, she decided, nestling her head in his chest. His chin came to rest on his head and he smiled.

They stood there like that for a while, the Doctor holding his best friend in his arms, relieved that she was safe, and Clara holding her alien companion in her arms, trying to figure out what he meant to by his 'impossible girl'.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Not too corny, right?


End file.
